Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

Until his revolution was at ftay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainft old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And, like an engin mov'd with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceas'd, he ended strait.
Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation haften'd on his term.

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Merely to drive the time away he ficken'd,

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Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;
Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd,
If I mayn't carry, fure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the crofs doctors all stood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make fix bearers.
Eafe was his chief difeafe, and to judge right,
He dy'd for heaviness that his cart went light:
His leifure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdenfome,
That ev'n to his laft breath (there be that say't)

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As he were prefs'd to death, he cry'd, More weight!
But had his doings lafted as they were,

He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date
In courfe reciprocal, and had his fatè
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the feas,

Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increase:
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,

Only remains this superscription.

30

L'ALLEGRO.

XIII.

L'ALLEGRO.

HENCE, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackett Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongft horrid fhapes, and fhrieks, and fights unholy, Find out fome uncouth cell,

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Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven fings;

There under ebon fhades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrosyne,

And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as fome fages fing)
The frolic wind that breathes the fpring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,

There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Hafte thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful Jollity,

H 3

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Quips

$

Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple fleck;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,

And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew

To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And finging ftartle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the fkies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rife;
Then to come in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:

While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the ftack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly ftruts his dames before:
Oft liftening how the hounds and horn
Chearly roufe the flumbering morn,
From the fide of fome hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:

Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocs green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great fun begins his state,
Rob'd in flames and amber light,

The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the plow-man near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fithe,
And every fhepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Strait mine
eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilft the landskip round it measures,

Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray,

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Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whofe barren breast

The laboring clouds do often reft,
Meadows trim with daifies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it fees
Bofom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps fome beauty lies,
The Cynofure of neighboring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,

And then in hafte her bower the leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier feafon lead

To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with fecure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,

And the jocond rebecs found

To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd fhade;

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Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet,
To earn his cream-bowl duly fet,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His fhadowy flale hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-laborers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy ftrength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the firft cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

By whispering winds foon lull'd asleep.

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Towred